


Ricochet

by wrestlecore



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Eh I tried, M/M, Mild Smut, This is probably bad, breaking up, kind of, mentions of drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14471502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrestlecore/pseuds/wrestlecore
Summary: We were falling awayYou left me with a bittersweet tasteBut when I send my heart your wayIt bounces off the walls you madeRicochet





	Ricochet

Every night, he felt wrong, like something was missing. He knew what was missing, the weight of a championship across his waist or shoulder, the weight of the Universal Championship. 

The heat of his frustration lied beneath his skin, blood bubbling in his veins. Roman was itching to get at Brock, the humiliation at Wrestlemania still burning bright, searing him each time he went out there. And Saudi Arabia had not been kind to him either. He knew that he hit the floor first, he rolled off of Brock first but commentary scrambled to say that Brock had hit it first.

"Mo laoch?” He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of an Irish accent. Roman looked at the doorway, seeing Finn there, gash still fresh above his eye, concern pooled within blue eyes. 

"Come back to bed with me, you need rest.” Finn said, walking over and clasping Roman's hands in his. "What's wrong?” 

“It's fine, nothing’s wrong baby.” Roman kissed the top of Finn's forehead, but he knew that the Irishman didn't believe him.

"Bullshit, I can tell something's wrong. Roman please, just tell me what's wrong.” Finn pleaded, and Roman turned away slightly. 

He knew that his lover could tell it was about the title, it's all he'd been focusing on for a long time. It was in his reach so many times, before it was yanked away by an F5, or a Coquina Clutch, or a Powerslam. It was building, how long before he finally snapped?

“It’s the title, isn’t it?” A gentle hand on his cheek, a soft smile on Finn’s face. “You don’t need it, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone love.” Finn kissed his lips, sighing. 

“I have a lot to prove, to him, to myself. I’ve lost blood, sweat, and tears to get where I am now. I've waited 3 fucking years for this” Roman hissed, eyes flaring with a bit of anger. Finn pulled his hand back and stepped slightly away.

“I know how you feel, it took so much to get here, I fucking get it!” Finn raised his voice a bit, brows furrowing together. Roman shook his head, turning away from his Irish lover, eyes narrowing slightly. “Roman please, please don’t shut me out mo laoch.” 

The dark haired man sighed slightly, remembering the hits he took, the blood in his eyes and not being able to see anything except red, looking back at the crowd in defeat, and finally Finn’s arms embracing him. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling Finn's eyes burning into him.

"Fucking hell, don't do this to me.” Finn's voice was akin to a sob, sounded like he was about to break down. "You know I'm experiencing what you're feeling.”

“It's different, y-”

“How the fuck is it different?” Finn yelled at him, eyes an icy and hard.. “Don't bring that ‘it's different’ shit with me! I've been trying hard to reclaim the title I never lost.” The Irishman hissed lowly, voice cracking slightly.

Roman narrowed his eyes at the smaller man, lip almost curling into a snarl. "Don't fucking start this Finn, I know that you're hurting about this.”

“Yeah, I'm fucking hurting, and you know why!” Finn gripped the ends of his shirt, hands shaking, knuckles white. “I never lost it, and you know it.” 

Roman winced slightly, turning away again. Finn had never lost it, relinquishing the title after only a day of holding it, whereas Roman had never held it. His lover was justified in the pain he felt, watching Roman having many chances, while he had almost none.

“Do you even fucking love me anymore?” 

Roman's eyes widened at that, whipping his head to face Finn, mouth parting to speak. “Don't.” The dark haired man pleaded softly. 

Finn's eyes were red rimmed and puffy, tears spilling from his too blue eyes. He choked back a sob as he said, “Face it, the title has been in your head ever since, well who fucking knows?” Finn let out a watery chuckle, god he sounded so _hurt._

Roman thought back to all those times, all the times he shrugged off Finn, all the times he didn't see how hurt he was. But the Irishman still, _still supported_ him. “Baby I… fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” He reached out to take Finn's hand, but his lover pulled away. “Finn?”

Finn shook his head, lowering it, feet shuffling slightly. “I… I think it's best if we take a break. With the title hanging above all our heads, well....” He trailed off, voice racking with sobs.

Roman dreaded that sentence, he knew that when he and Finn began dating that one of them would utter that sentence. “So this is it then?” Roman felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach, even more so when Finn nodded. “I guess this is the part where you pack up and leave.”

“I really wish things would've been different. I'm so sorry Roman, fuck, but I can't do this. I can't.”

He watched as Finn packed his things, never looking him in the eye. He could see the hurt in lov- in Finn’s blue eyes as he left. And just like that, Finn walked out of his life, never looking back at him. That night, Roman cried harder than he ever did, he wept for Finn, he wept for the man he loved.

-  
-

Roman was drunk.

He’d had about three doubles of whiskey in the past few hours, trying to ignore the stabbing pain where his heart used to be. When Finn walked out, he walked out with Roman’s heart in his hand. Fuck, Roman missed him, and he didn’t know what to do.

He’s in the middle of pouring a fourth double when he heard the door unlock. He ignored it, expecting Dean or Seth to come in and tell him to stop moping and fucking do something. Instead, he heard footsteps much too light, too feathery, to belong to his brothers, and he saw a pair of blue vans enter his line of sight.

His eyes tracked upwards, following slim legs clad in black jeans, across a muscled torso covered in a polo shirt that’s simultaneously too tight and the right size, and finally up to a face bearing red lips, too blue eyes, and a pained expression.

Finn was standing in front of him, lips turned down in a frown, brows drawn together with something akin to concern. His eyes seemed too bright in the darkness Roman was wallowing in, and he felt the sharp pain of his heart beating in his chest again. Some small part of him, the part of him too drunk to remember his own name, started getting hopeful, and it hurt more than a fucking fifth F5 in a row. 

As Roman sat there, trying to think of what to say through the haze of alcohol and raw emotion, he watched Finn’s eyes flit between the half empty bottle of whiskey, the shot glass clutched in Roman’s hand like a lifeline, and the bedroom. Finn’s bottom lip tucked up under his teeth as he raked his eyes across Roman’s form, slouched on the couch with his head tipped backwards.

“I stopped by to check on you.” Finn’s voice was too quiet, soft and broken against Roman’s ears. His accent was thicker than usual, or maybe that was Roman’s alcohol riddled brain hearing him like he was underwater. Finn carefully sat on the edge of the couch, turned to face the younger man. “Are you okay?”

Roman snorted, rolled his head to face the Irishman. “Do I look okay?” He mumbled, flexing his fingers around the cheap shot glass in his hand. 

Finn looked at him with something akin to concern and pity swimming in his eyes. Anger flared deep in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want pity; he wanted his fucking boyfriend back, wanted the fucking title, wanted something _more_ than disappointment and whiskey in his dark apartment. He gritted his teeth, bit back everything threatening to tumble off his tongue.

Finn sighed, raked a hand through his hair. There were dark bags under his eyes, weighing down his eyelids like weights. His lips were chapped and bitten red, and his teeth dug into them as he thought. 

There’s a long moment of silence, spent regarding each other with weariness and too many emotions pressed too close to the surface.

Eventually, Roman took the initiative, rolled his weight until he’s pressed to Finn’s side. A clumsy hand came up, dropped his shot glass, and cupped Finn’s jaw. Uncertain fingers gently traced harsh bone through thick hair, and Roman’s breath slowly gets heavier. His lungs felt weighed down, like there’s a pressure settled deep against his chest, like someone (he knows who) pressed against his chest for the one, two, three.

He leaned forwards, gracelessly pressing his lips to Finn’s. The Irishman stiffened, pulling himself away slowly. A hand came to rest on Roman’s chest with the purpose of keeping him from leaning forwards. There were emotions swimming in his eyes, ones Roman didn’t recognize, ones he did, ones he didn’t want to know but did, ones he wanted to know but didn’t.

Roman felt himself crawl into Finn’s lap, seemingly against his will but who fucking knows, maybe he did tell his body to do that, he was too drunk to tell anymore. He pressed his forehead against Finn’s, his fingers digging deep into the shorter man’s shoulders. There were words coming from his mouth, spilling from his tongue, but he was too far gone to process them (the part of his brain still sober enough to function recognized _“I love you, don’t leave me, I need you, I can’t do this”_ ).

Finn’s hands fit against Roman’s hips perfectly, just like they always did, just like they used to. The touch felt like a shot of electricity and adrenaline straight to Roman’s spine, like nails digging into his eyes, like a rain of blows to his face, like an elbow splitting his forehead, like his hairline leaking blood. Finn’s breath was hitting his lips, and it feels achingly familiar in the wrong way.

Finn's hand slid around Roman's hip, his grip grounding in a way that made Roman's heart ache. “Mo loach? (God he remembered the sweet nickname on Finn's tongue, remembered how he loved it) You're drunk.” His voice was soft, painfully soft, and fond in a way that felt like getting stabbed. There was a hint of concern, of pity, and Roman’s heart reared in his chest.

Roman leaned forwards again, pressed past Finn's hand leveraged on his chest. “I don't care. I want this, I want you, I _need_ you.” He mumbled, tangling his fingers in Finn's hair. Finn let him kiss him again, an uncoordinated press of lips and too much teeth. Their noses were pressed uncomfortably together but he didn't care. All he knew was that he needed Finn, will always need Finn, and he needs him more than ever.

Time moved in a blur.

Roman didn't remember a whole lot of it. He remembered the dig of Finn's teeth into his lip, the desperate sting of Finn's nails into his thigh. He didn't know how they got there but he remembered pressing Finn into the mattress, spreading him open on three fingers until Finn was reduced to a writhing, moaning mess under him. He remembered slowly fucking into Finn, wiping away the tears as Finn whimpered things like _“I love you, I miss you, please don't fucking leave me.”_ And he remembered mirroring those sentiments, fucking Finn into the mattress as he failed to hold back tears.

The feeling of Finn clinging to him like a lifeline, him clinging to Finn like a lifeline, brought back many memories, painful memories. The flashes of sweet kisses before a match, limbs tangled together as they enjoyed each other's company in bed, _too much, too fucking much._

He remembered not focusing on Finn moaning under him, but on the sting of hearing music that wasn't his despite him hitting the ground first. 

-  
-

Roman awoke first, like he always did, always waiting for Finn to wake up, pressing gentle kisses to his boyfriend's face. 

That's how they were, like how they used to sleep together, legs tangled together, Finn's arm draped over his stomach with his head on his chest, Roman's arms cradling him, holding his lover close to his heart. He didn't have the guts to push the Irishman away from him, soft breaths coming from him, back rising and falling slowly, so the dark haired continued to hold the man in his arms.

His mind was screaming at him to push Finn away, the part that wasn't sluggish and pounding against his skull, this was the man who ripped his heart out and took it with him. The man who caused this. Roman couldn't do it however.

He didn't have to do anything, a few seconds later Finn woke up, the Irishman flinching and quickly scrambling out of his hold. ”Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck._ ” The Irishman cursed, pushing Roman back. 

"Baby?”

“Don't,” Finn almost whimpered. "You were drunk and I was hurt, fuck.” He murmured, eyes flickering in panic at his surroundings. 

Roman shook his head frantically, reaching out for Finn. "No, no baby, I still love you, please, _I still love you_.” He choked, the Irishman batting away his hand, blue eyes hardening.

"Liar, you never gave a damn about me, all you cared about was that fucking championship!” Finn rose his voice a bit before lowering his head, hand covering his eyes. "You never loved me, did you?” Finn’s voice sounded small and broken, like it did the night he left. It hurt Roman, _it hurt to listen._

Finn slipped out of the bed, pulling his clothes on, avoiding eye contact with the dark haired man and biting his lip, perhaps to keep the soft sobs threatening to spill. "Finn please, don't leave, not again, I need you.” Roman begged, god he's never felt this vulnerable, he hated this, hated seeing the man he loved leaving again. " _Stay with me._ ” He choked out, and Finn paused. 

A tiny spark of hope flared inside the pit of Roman's stomach, the bit of hope that Finn would stay, the bit of hope that they'd be able to put this behind them. After what felt like eternity, Finn shook his head, slipping on his shirt. "I can't, I just fucking can't.” Roman knew that Finn was holding back tears, he could feel it. "Goodbye Roman.” Finn murmured, putting on his shoes and walking out of the room, the sound of the apartment door being slammed shut.

He remembered his cry for Finn, the inside of his head pounding against his skull, his heart feeling as if it was being torn to shreds yet again, hot tears forming and beginning to spill. Fuck, he had never been good at keeping his emotions intact, _never_ , and he felt something break within him.

Oh, the dreaded feeling of being alone again, the feeling of being empty again, the hole where his heart used to be feeling as if it was. 

“I still _love_ you.” He whispered brokenly.

**Author's Note:**

> Really big thanks to Leighton who helped me with the mild smut and its lead up. Come yell at me on tumblr, I'm demonsbalor!


End file.
